


Trouble Maker. (514)

by thesurgeon



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesurgeon/pseuds/thesurgeon





	Trouble Maker. (514)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bossymarmalade (maggie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggie/gifts).



He pretends that it's a matter of life and death, that he not make a sound. 

It's an old game he'd used to play, from when he was a kid, and he'd get scared: in the dark of his bedroom, trying out a new move that he was  _sure_ he'd fail (no matter _how_ convincing the look in his father's eyes when he told him to,  _jump, Dick!,_ or the fact that he was always, always there to catch him), or even on the first day at one of the many new schools he went to before the circus had hired a private tutor for the kids who performed.

He'd pretend that he was a knight or a soldier, out on some epic journey, just strollin' along, minding his own business... and, here it was, the _thing_ , the _test_ , thebattle that every hero worth his salt came up against, he had to _prove himself_ , and come on,  _Dickie_ , you can  _do this.._ would go rolling around in his head, wrapping around his body, like worn-smooth rosary beads. The rising chant would tremble to a furious roar, and eventually he'd have lost himself so deep in the illusion, he'd take the first step into the room, off the scaffolding, out of the car, and the dragon would be slain, the princess rescued, and the imaginary game will have saved his bacon once more. He'd be safe.

Of course, the game doesn't work so well because it isn't just Dickie's own childhood demons he's fighting, now, but Bruce's gloved finger that his body's resisting. The older man'd stuck the tip of it in his mouth to get it wet, yeah, but it made little fucking difference for how it  _hurt_ when it was gliding in now, past the first knuckle, into the quivering bowstring of his body; spine pulled back taut, ready to give a sound at the first release, the first blow.

But, it was important that they not make a sound; Dick knew that. _Anyone_ could hear it if they did, what with the way the cavernous walls liked to bounce back every twinkling splash of water from the spring below their feet back up for the whole world to hear. A shuddering moan, gasp, or any of Dick's whispered pleadings to Bruce, the way he begged him when they were upstairs, and the jig would be up.

So, he bit into the fleshiest part of his forearm, clamping his eyes shut, and imagined the dragon's teeth doing the damage instead. Imagined the weight of its enormous body--so much larger than his, always, always so much  _larger--_  crushing him, as he was pushed into the wall. He ground his teeth into kevlar and Nomex, jerking his body back against the feel of its breath against his skin, curling the straight hairs at the nape of his neck, the slivering hot dampness of tongue and teeth, its lips ready to pull back and breath fire straight into his mouth, filling his belly and gut with flames if he failed, and somehow, somehow, managed to stay quiet. 


End file.
